


For Those We Have Lost

by the_northerlies



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking & Talking, Femroe Friends, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Internal Conflict, Monologue Masquerading as Dialogue, Original Character(s), Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_northerlies/pseuds/the_northerlies
Summary: "Alright, my friend.  Now, where were we?"  Boreal opens the journal to a page marked by a bookmark styled with the symbol that had been appealingly tattooed on Moenbryda's thigh.  "Oh, yes.  The last time I was up here, we'd just gotten to Ardbert rising from the dead.  Gods, but I left you on a bit of a cliffhanger," she chuckles. She pours a drink into each of the two cups, settles in against the stone, and starts reading aloud.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 12





	For Those We Have Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Many profuse thanks to [akisazame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisazame/pseuds/akisazame) and [roefizzlebeef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roefizzlebeef/pseuds/roefizzlebeef) for their help in reviewing and editing. I'm not usually comfortable when writing dialogue, so their assistance was crucial to any success I have in telling this story about my own Warrior of Light.

The promontory of Rathefrost lies still in the heavy Mor Dhona afternoon. The only perceptible sounds are the faint chimes of the plasmoid wisps, and even those are muffled by the gloomy haze that tints every surface an unnatural pink. The humble monument to Thaliak stands, impassive, beneath a tree frozen in crystal, watching over a few small green shoots which have thus far staved off the land's unnatural transformation.

Into the silence, Boreal Tempest alights from her hovering palanquin, shoulders a small rucksack, and dismisses the obedient bombs with a flick of her wrist. She trudges over to Thaliak's stone and sets the rucksack down. 

"Hey, Moen. Sorry it's been so long," she says with a pained smile as she pulls out a clean, thick canvas to spread on the ground.

"You would not believe the past couple months. Well, you probably would, but you still wouldn't, you know?" she continues. Two cups follow the canvas.

"I brought us something to drink, of course." Boreal reveals a small bottle of clear liquid with a bearded, helmeted face staring out from the label and starts to shake it, then thinks better of agitating it too much. 

"You'll get a kick out of this one: it's booze from another world. It's also probably strong enough to strip the stones off a coblyn. Glad my mounts know the way home, because I might not after a sip of this." She chuckles as a second bottle of the same temperamental liquid joins its twin on the canvas.

"But truly, every time I came back to Revenant's Toll I was on some kind of errand where the fate of the world was at stake. I know that sounds like normal days for the Warrior of Light, but this was different." A clothbound packet of Tataru's unforgettable Sharlayan loaf lands on the canvas with a muffled _thud_.

"It's a lot easier to get up here now, it turns out. While I was away, the Alliance repealed their ban on flight near settlements, so I didn't have to take the long way around. I guess they think that with Varis dead and the Garleans pulled far enough back, flight shouldn't be dangerous anymore. Can you imagine that?" Boreal pulls the last item out of the rucksack: a weatherbeaten, leather-bound journal.

"Alright, my friend. Now, where were we?" Boreal opens the journal to a page marked by a bookmark styled with the symbol that had been appealingly tattooed on Moenbryda's thigh. "Oh, yes. The last time I was up here, we'd just gotten to Ardbert rising from the dead. Gods, but I left you on a bit of a cliffhanger," she chuckles. She pours a drink into each of the two cups, settles in against the stone, and starts reading aloud.

In her best lecturer's tones, Boreal tells the silence about the return of Ardbert and the schemes of Elidibus. She leads the crystalline tree on a journey to discover the secrets of the ancients, and reveals the sinister purpose of Elidibus's illusory star showers. She tells the unhearing stone about the ongoing work to restore the First, about Ryne's new friend, and about the plague that struck the Greatwood and the mechanical wonders of the dwarves. She tells the indifferent wisps about the peculiar machines that appeared in Kholusia and the chaos they brought, and about the battle for the Crystal Tower.

As she turns to the final page of entries, covered in her tightly-packed shorthand, Boreal breathes in deeply before continuing. "Urianger's safe," she says, comforting the void. "I know that's what you'd want to know more than anything else, and he's absolutely fine. He's actually grown a lot in the past several months. Well, no, for him it's been several years, I suppose." Boreal looks over at the stone with a wry smirk. "Gods, this arbitrary time dilation mess is going to confound your colleagues for decades."

Closing the journal, she says, "I know I told you he changed after you left us, but he lets people see that he cares, now. He does it in his own way, of course, but we can clearly understand his meaning. I know that doesn't sound like Urianger at all, but it's true. And he misses you. He probably wouldn't want me to burden you like that, and he never lets himself actually say those words, but he does and I know you'd want to hear it." Boreal unsuccessfully tries to hold back a grin as she continues, "Of course, he's found a new love. I hate to say it, but he is _enamored..._ of his fancy astrological card-tricks. It's beyond belief. Poor Y'shtola is going to pull a muscle trying not to laugh at him. He should count himself lucky that you're not watching him act like a tremendous buffoon, because you would have material for _years_."

Boreal sets the journal down and leans back against the stone. The sun has almost set, but the evening sky is still shrouded from view by the oppressive, pink-tinged gloom. _Unpleasantly familiar_ , she thinks. The first bottle, and her cup, are empty. The other cup remains full, untouched, alongside half of a slice of Sharlayan loaf.

"It's because of you that we've gotten this far, you know. We would never have survived, let alone turned the tables, if not for you and your research." Boreal pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead on them, hiding her face from the solitude. "They're all gone now, all of the Unsundered. Lahabrea's been gone for a good while, now, but Emet-Selch and Elidibus followed so quickly after each other that it didn't seem real. And just like that, we've 'won,' at least for the moment.

"Some of the Scions talk almost sympathetically about what the Unsundered went through. I know they're trying to comprehend the incomprehensible, and it's so tempting to seek honor and reason in your foes' goals. Yet every time they say these high-minded things, all I can hear is you, fighting to stave off the end for just one more second to save us all." Boreal takes a deep breath and sits in silence for a moment before she continues, "Elidibus spoke at the end about how he had forgotten nearly everything about his past, save his duty. At that moment, I almost envied him. Who wouldn't want to forget the things I've seen?"

She hesitates again, her mounting anger causing her teeth to clench as she struggles for the right words. "But if I say I want to forget... that's not true, is it? That's just… it's a palliative, and the wound still remains. What I _want_ is for none of this to have ever happened in the first place. And if I can't have that, then at least I want those vaunted 'Unsundered' to have reined Nabriales in before he murdered a dear friend. They can't expect me to understand that, much less forgive. They weren't _there_." Boreal pauses, glancing at the stone for guidance it does not give. In a quiet voice, she asks, "Am I wrong for this? Must I forgive the unforgivable because of what I am? Is the Warrior of Light permitted to hold a grudge, to resent, to… to loathe, or even to hate?"

Boreal sighs softly into the tops of her boots. "I don't know. And I have no one to ask. Ardbert has always said it's righteous anger, and is therefore just and fair, but sometimes I wish for such violent, brutal harm to come to those who wrong people that I wonder whether I crossed the line long ago. Ryne said my soul knit itself back together after I purged it of the Lightwardens' essence, but it still feels brittle and sharp-edged, like I'll cut myself on it if I'm not too careful."

Boreal lets the silence press in on her as the sky darkens and the gloom clears. Before long, the second bottle lies empty on the ground beside the first. The untouched cup reflects the moon on the liquid's surface.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft and thick and ever-so-slightly slurred, but filled with the earnestness that sometimes accompanies inebriation. "You are always with us," she says. "I don't know where you are, or if you can hear me, but I want you to know that you are always, always with us. Wherever I may travel, wherever my journeys take me, I carry you with me. And I hope with all my heart that I'm lucky enough to meet you again."

The moon continues its drift across the sky, its glow losing the war against the soft blue light emanating from the Crystal Tower. After a few moments, Boreal lets out one final sigh and stands, just a bit unsteadily.

"Well, I've talked your ear off, for certain. I should be getting back, anyway; there's always more work to be done, after all." Boreal haphazardly stuffs her belongings back into the rucksack: the cloth, the journal, two empty bottles, and one cup all jumble around until everything fits. She leans over to rest her head on the cool, impassive stone and says, "Until next time. Take care, my dear friend. And keep watch over us."

She walks a few uneven steps toward the edge of Rathefrost, flicks her wrist, and says a quiet farewell before being borne aloft and away on her palanquin. If the tree has any answer for her, it never speaks it. If the stone holds Thaliak's consolation for her, it never soothes her spirits. If the wisps know whether anyone heard her words, they never let on. If the silence hears her, it makes no reply.

**Author's Note:**

> When I finished the story in 5.3, all I could think about was how there was one character who needed to know how the tale ended. I don't really write much - this is the first fiction I've written unprompted in almost a decade - but I felt compelled to tell this story. Moenbryda is one of the only female Roegadyn characters who has palpable, undeniable story relevance across the entire game to date; for my own Hellsguard lady scholar, Boreal Tempest, she was a breath of fresh air and a natural fit as a close friend. And then the writers took her from us, immediately and abruptly, in what I consider the worst story choice they've ever made. This is a glimpse of how Boreal copes - or doesn't - with that.


End file.
